Pippin's escape from reality had been mildly successful. His eyes had popped open involuntarily a few times throughout, but they saw very little in the dark. He had continued to hum and cover his head, terrified of stopping.

He didn't know how long it was before he felt something beside him and froze. Daring a peek, he found the tent empty and Ithilhen returned to his binds, head leaned back and body limp.

Pippin shuddered, guilt peeking in to his mind again. Had he hoped that it would not be him...? Or that it would be the elf? He didn't want to think of that, shaking his head.

Pippin peered at the elf beside him. He did not look well; skin as pale as ever, blood staining his clothes, and a desperate whimper would shake him in his sleep every few moments. But Pippin felt more alone then before, and nervously nudged him.

Ithilhen turned his head away, flinching from the touch. Pippin whispered his name and nudged him again. The elf groaned weakly, eyes squinting open enough to see the Hobbit that bothered him. For a moment, his face didn't register, a look of confusion settling over his angled features. But memory dawned again, and his face twisted to despair.

"Oh, young Pippin... I am so sorry..." the elf struggled as his shoulders shook. His silvery eyes were wet by fresh tears. "You should not have bore witness to such a... Such an act..."

Pippin's eyes couldn't help by tear up as well at the guilt of the elf. He would have spoke, but Ithilhen's face suddenly changed, a spark of life leaping to his eyes.

"The key..." he hissed, twisting his cramping arms to reach into his pocket. "That foolish man." He whispered as his grin twisted his lips, hands coming up to reveal a small key between two fingers. Pippin's eyes widened in awe.

"How...?"

Ithilhen smiled and gave a halfhearted wink. "A magician never reveals his tricks."

Pippin stared, unsure if he understood what the elf implied. But for the moment, he didn't care as they key clicked into the lock connecting them to the post. With a turn, it released its hold on the chains round their wrists.

Ithilhen placed a finger to his lips as he struggle to sit right, body screaming in protest. Pippin reached over, pushing on his shoulder to help. With a bit of strain, they were able to get standing before the elf was able to get the key into the lock around Pippin's neck, then his wrists.

As Pippin was about to offer to unlock his friend's restraints, a commotion arose outside. Angry voices, some that sounded familiar, shouting incoherently. Pippin and Ithilhen shared a quick look before the elf shoved the key into the Hobbit's hands, rushing him to unlock the binds. He turned to the chest that held his clothes, looting it and tossing the contents into a shoulder bag that had also been within the container.

A voice grew nearer, and the pair panicked. Quickly, Ithilhen lifted a flap of the tent and ushered Pippin through before rolling out himself. The camp of maybe a dozen men was full of shouts and the smell of something burning. A distraction, they hoped.

Ithilhen tried to take a step, but his legs buckled and he landed hard on his knees with quiet whimper. His back was in agony and his muscles felt spent. With a heavy face he glanced up at the Hobbit, who started.

"Young Pippin, I do not know if I can stand..." He gasped. "You may have to go-"

The elf was abruptly cut off as Pippin grabbed both of his arms and wrapped them around his own neck, turning as though he intended to carry the elf out.

Ithilhen couldn't help a smile. Using his little Hobbit friend as support, he forced his legs to stand, and the two stumbled to the back of the camp.

The torch quickly caught the wood of the fence ablaze, its weak structure crumbling. The trio circled around to the opposite end, keeping their ears open for noise. Satisfied with the silence, Aragorn signaled Boromir, and the two raised their blades to hack at the wood with a few sure swings. It splintered and came away, opening up to the inside of the camp. Merry darted in, ahead of the two men who tried to protest.

The camp wasn't very large. But there were many places to hide someone, and they only had so much time, time that Merry didn't seem to care about. In a loud whisper, He called his cousin's name.

"Pippin?!"

The men hesitantly joined the call, crouched behind the tents. They could hear the crackle of the fire as it consumed the fence.

…

"Did you hear that?" Ithilhen asked, lifting his head. Pippin looked up at the elf clinging to his shoulders and shook his head.

"I hear a voice... Three voices call your name." He looked down at the Hobbit, eyes questioning. "Your friends, perhaps?"

Pippin's face lit up, but Ithilhen placed his finger to his lips again. Pippin nodded uneasily, and continued to half-drag the elf towards the voices.

It was slow, trying to get the elf to walk but remain crouched to avoid being seen. His legs shook beneath him and constantly stumbled. But he did manage to stand to peer above the tents.

"Two men at the far end of the camp. They call your name, but another voice is with them that I cannot see."

Pippin grinned. "Merry, I bet..." He tried to stand on his toes, to get a look as well. But Ithilhen pushed on his shoulders, urging him on. "If they are, we must get to them."

It had seemed a short distance, so Pippin ventured a call. "Merry!"

…

Merry turned his head, swearing he heard something. Looking back, Boromir nodded, and Aragorn heard it as well. Merry called back, heart racing.

"The fire is nearly out." whispered Aragorn.

…

"They heard you." Ithilhen whispered, knees shaking. The next step brought him down, starling Pippin. "No, no, they're just over there..." he pleaded, but the elf was shaking hard.

…

"They're coming back!" Boromir hissed, ducking behind a tent. The bandits had extinguished the fire and were fighting amongst themselves, shouting about the fire and going for their weapons.

"Pippin!" Merry called again, startled by the quick reply. "Merry, come help-!" His young cousin's voice was just loud enough to hear over the noise of the men.

Merry looked at his companions, who hesitantly nodded. The trio crept along the exterior of the camp, between the tents and the wall. Pippin was closer then they had thought, peeking around a tent and startling the group. His face lit up and he waved them over before he disappeared back around the corner.

Merry darted the short distance to get to his cousin, Aragorn and Boromir keeping a watch. "Pippin, we've got to… get… Who is that?" He asked at the sight of the faint elf, curled up on his side, who Pippin was trying to pull to his feet. "Don't worry, he's a good guy." Pippin grunted, letting go of Ithilhen's arm. "But he's hurt, he can't get up." He turned his eyes on his cousin, and Merry let out a sigh.

The Hobbit glanced around before dashing back to the two waiting men. "Pippin's got a friend, he needs help." Merry reported. The men let out exasperated noises, glancing around. It was amazing they hadn't been seen, but they were pushing their luck. "Very well." Boromir said, following Merry, crouched as low as he could behind the tents.

Pippin was still crouched by Ithilhen when the two returned, but nearly jumped with joy when Boromir arrived. The man smiled, happy to see the little Hobbit again, and stooped beside him. "We're going to need some explanation once we return to camp…" He whispered, looking at the elf. Pippin nodded hurriedly, reaching down to grab his companion's arm before Boromir took hold and manhandled the elf over his shoulder.

With a look between the three, they hurried back to Aragorn, whose sword was drawn. He gave them a questioning look, but disregarded it as they turned to flee.

"Hey!" An unfortunately familiar gravelly voice stopped them. Pippin flinched and cowered behind Boromir.

Merry drew his small blade, ready to fight, but Aragorn grabbed him around the waist, Boromir grabbing Pippin with his free arm, and they ran through the opening they had cut in the fence. A racket arose behind them as the bandits took up their arms and gave chase.